Temperatures
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Upon the realization that Princess Leia Organa was currently asleep in his bed, Han Solo had two questions. Set pre ESB. Location: Hoth. Plot: The Princess is asleep on the Falcon, and Han doesn't know how it happened - does he?


_a/n: when beginning to write in a new fandom, i like to do a multitude of oneshots so i can test the waters and practice characterization. so, here i am again, with another ESB-centric oneshot._

* * *

 **Temperatures**

* * *

Hoth had one temperature: cold.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Sometimes, _cold_ fluctuated to an unbearable _freezing_ or an inhospitable, godforsaken _icy_. If it was a good day, _cold_ might ease up a little and be merely _chilly_ – once or twice, it was even mercifully _cool —_ but for the most part, Hoth was cold, and that was that.

Princess Leia did what she always did: she adapted. She did what she had to do. She straightened her shoulders and ignored the discomfort; she held her head high and didn't complain – she shut her ears to the occasionally hostile comments she heard from people who considered her frigid, equating the wintery Hoth with _her,_ calling it her _true_ home planet, the one she was the _Ice Queen_ of. She turned the other cheek to _that_ ; it didn't hurt her feelings because she wanted them to like her, it hurt because to be reminded that she had no true home, that the only home she'd ever known was gone, was to nearly be brought to her knees.

Hoth was cold, space was cold; Leia Organa's entire world was cold.

She really was resigned to it; she _was_ stoic, she _could_ handle it – but sometimes, even for her, it was just too – _cold_.

She found herself approaching the _Millennium Falcon_ with some hesitancy. Despite being sure Han was on guard duty – she'd checked, specifically – she worried about running into him. She sought Chewie, and a small favor; if Han were around, it would just be an ordeal, and she could barely hold her eyes open – she couldn't hold her own in verbal sparring right now, and she _hated_ to lose.

It was late, she had run out of assignments, and no one would give her anymore. _Sleep_ , they said; _rest_. They were orders given out of concern, and she appreciated them, but sleep was hard – and even harder when the temperature was so bitingly terrible.

On a whim, and a healthy amount of swallowed pride, she'd come up with a desperate plan. She was accustomed to operating on little sleep; she even thrived on it, with the rush that came along with it, but there was only so much even she could take – and though there was nothing she could really do for the nightmares, there was something she could do about the temperature.

Maybe, if one stressor was removed, she could get four hours of sleep instead of two.

She crept up the ramp of the Falcon and peered into the ship, blinking warily. Seeing no one, she rapped her knuckles against the metal and took a few steps in.

"Chewie?" she called.

She heard a distinctly muffled rumble, and she followed it – unsurprisingly, the Wookiee was tinkering with something, lying flat on his back and wedged in a corner where two mechanisms were half torn- apart.

Leia folded her arms.

"Hi, Chewie," she greeted.

He spat a tool out of his mouth, and shifted, blinking up at her mildly.

 _[Han's not here. He's on watch.]_

Leia blinked uncertainly – she suddenly realized without Han around, or Threepio, she was severely hampered in being able to communicate with Chewbacca. She winced a little apologetically – she maybe should have brought the protocol droid, but he had a loud mouth. As innocent as his blabbing was, she didn't want the whole base talking about her even more.

She didn't understand why she was such a hot topic, anyway. Couldn't a girl be taken hostage and have her planet destroyed _without_ it being the Alliance's number one gossip rag headline?

"Is Han here?" Leia asked, unsure what Chewie had said.

He blinked at her a couple of times.

 _[No. I just told you that.]_

She didn't know why she asked anyway; she knew where he was. She'd checked. She was just making sure.

Getting the gist of what Chewie's answer was, she bit her lip.

 _[He'd come back in a heartbeat if he heard you wanted him]._

Chewie followed whatever he'd said with a snuffling laugh, and Leia, despite not understanding it, flushed – she just assumed it was a tease about her, looking for Han. Something like that. She focused herself, sure she could interpret his facial expressions right if she needed to – she was a politician after all; she was supposed to be good at body language.

"Chewie, I have a…bit of a strange favor to ask," Leia began in a small voice.

She swallowed nervously – she really didn't know why she'd allowed herself to go ahead with this harebrained idea, but desperation was getting the better of her – as if to remind her why she needed this, her body gave a chilled, involuntary shudder.

Chewie nodded at her, and then shrugged. Gods – she was glad he could understand Basic, at least.

"Well," she said carefully – why was this so much harder than speaking to thousands of beings on the senate floor? "I –does the _Falcon's_ heating still work?" she asked abruptly.

Chewie blinked.

 _[That's about the only thing that works.]_ He snorted.

Leia blinked hesitantly. Chewie, helping her out, nodded. She licked her lips.

"Right – _well_ ," she began again. "I'm sure you've noticed, but it's very cold on this planet…" She sounded _illiterate_. She flushed slightly, and carried on: "Or maybe you haven't; I don't know how insulating Wookiee fur is…"

 _[Wookiees get cold, Princess.]_ Chewie snorted.

"Yes," she agreed absently, furrowing her brow. She sighed. "Look, I'm having trouble sleeping in the weather, and it's affecting my performance," she said dully – she didn't like admitting it, and furthermore, she didn't like complaining about conditions on the base.

They had to live like this. It was just a fact of life, a part of being an illegal insurrection. And the insurrection was absolutely necessary. But –

"I was wondering if I could sleep on the _Falcon,"_ she said in a rush. "Not overnight, just a nap. I just need to try to get…a few solid hours, and the cold, on top of everything else," she trailed off a moment. "And I know Han's on shift for six hours, so I wouldn't be in the way," she added quickly.

 _[Oh, I'm sure Han would_ love _for you to be in his way.]_

Leia watched Chewbacca uncertainly as he laughed about something.

"Most of the other ships are fighters, and I think heating is the last thing they worry about in cockpits," she rambled on. "I don't take up a lot of space, I kind of sleep in a," she held up her hands, pushing them together, "in a tiny little ball," she muttered, trailing off again.

She flushed. Chewie stood up, leaving tools on the floor. He looked at her curiously a moment, and then tilted his head.

 _[The crew cabin is mostly my hammock.]_ Chewie warned her _. [Han's cabin is probably filthy.]_

Leia blinked at him blankly, and he gave her a smile and beckoned. She followed him as he lumbered through the ship, leading her to crew quarters. She immediately saw his large hammock suspended over two crew cots, both of which were being used for personal storage. He pointed her around the corner to Han's cabin and growled something.

"Oh," Leia said. "Um, Chewie, I don't think he'd like that – "

 _[Yes, he would.]_ Chewie snorted. He pointed at his hammock. _[That won't be comfortable for you. And you'll fall out.]_

Leia eyed the hammock warily, and got the gist of what he was saying.

 _[Han's bunk is made for humans, anyway.]_ Chewie added. _[I was kidding about it being filthy. He's unkempt but he's not disgusting.]_

Chewbacca knew the Princess understood next to nothing that came out of his mouth, which was slightly fun for him. Certain things, she could get the gist of, but other things – like his small teasing – went over her head. Han would probably murder him if he was here to interpret. Thinking of that, Chewie laughed.

Seeing Leia's face, he hastily hushed up and nudged her towards Han's cabin, pointing earnestly.

 _[It's okay, Princess. You need to sleep. I'll turn the heat on.]_

But Leia's feet wouldn't move. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but she'd forgotten that the usual crew quarters were modified because of the Wookiee's presence. The whole trip from the Death Star to Yavin was a blur, and when she hung out around the Falcon these days, she never went towards the cabin.

It invited too many lewd jokes.

She hesitated, grimacing a little. Wouldn't Han be bothered, if Chewie just auctioned off his bed to alliance members? Sure, he was always making vulgar comments, and sure, he seemed vaguely interested in compromising her…honor…but his cabin was private. She didn't think she'd like it if someone slept in her bed without her permission.

She turned to Chewie.

"I don't know, Chewie. Maybe this was a bad idea."

He gave a roar of protest. Shaking his arm, and pointing. He looked a little concerned, and she gave him a half smile, touched. He moved past her, and made a show of making Han's bed. He did it messily – his species didn't bother with all of that soft, fluffy blanket-y stuff humans kept in their nests – and then pointed, and retrieved a blanket from a small drawer. He dropped it on the bed, pointed again, and snuffled at her.

 _[He never uses that blanket. With the heat on, you won't need to be under the sheets.]_ He advised, thinking that would make it less intimate for her.

She frowned, thinking about it, and she crossed her arms, approaching.

"Is it possible for you to wake me up before he gets back?" she asked seriously. "I'd prefer to avoid – well, you know how he can – I'd rather this not become a _thing_."

Chewie snorted, and lifted his head a little; he knew exactly how Han could be, and he understood. He thought about telling her Han really, really wouldn't be bothered by this – he'd probably be delighted – but then, maybe that's what she was afraid of, and giving her complex sentences in Shriywook was futile, anyway.

 _[Your secret's safe with me, Princess Leia.]_ He assured her.

She saw the warmth in his eyes, and beamed. Unfolding her arms awkwardly, she approached to bed – Chewie snuffled something quietly, and left the room, pulling the door to a little. She stood by Han's bunk, feeling slightly dwarfed – it had been modified to be roomier, clearly. That could be nice – and Chewie made it seem less – invasive, she supposed, less salacious, by pulling up the bedding and indicating she should sleep on top.

Leia crawled onto the bed and grabbed the blanket, laying her head down gingerly on the pillows. She took a deep breath, and was first overwhelmed by how much the bed smelled like Han, and then by the fact that she so readily identified that Han had a specific scent, and what it was. She forced her eyes close – she felt _comfortable_.

She curled up under the blanket, tugging it close. This was better than the standard issue dormitory rooms the rebel base issued out. Sure, Leia's was private, but it wasn't soothing; it wasn't _homey_. This, at least, was homey; not in the particular way she was used to, perhaps, but it was someone's home, and that made it feel safe.

She suddenly had the thought that it felt like Alderaan. Just as suddenly, she laughed at herself; laughed dryly, and out loud. This was nothing like Alderaan. This was a downtrodden old ship on a remote planet – nothing would be like Alderaan again, and any brief flicker of contentment she had was going to be doused by the despair of losing her home, and the knowledge that even if they succeeded against hopeless odds, when this was all over, she'd have nothing, and no one.

Leia closed her eyes tightly. She heard a thump, and then a whirring noise, and she knew Chewie must have turned the heat on. She buried her face in a pillow, and tried not to dwell on Alderaan – she often wished she was back in the heat of the Death Star battle, when she'd had no time to dwell. With the heat on, she relaxed a little – if she couldn't stop the nightmares, at least for once she'd be warm.

More easily than she expected, she fell asleep.

* * *

Han Solo was _tired._ Six hours on watch duty, standing around doing nothing, was more exhausting than one would think – and it wasn't even his turn; he'd just agreed to do it because some other pilot felt sick, and Luke had asked him.

Thus far, the empire hadn't thought to look for the Rebel Alliance on the coldest planet in the coldest depths of the godforsaken galaxy, which meant guard duty was a boring task that consisted of standing around, glaring at anyone who was sneaking around, and maybe playing Sabacc if none of the higher ups were around to see.

This round, Han had been trying not to fall asleep, since he'd already been up early to help on a perimeter check, and after that, he'd been working on the _Falcon_ all day because she'd been giving him some attitude. Needless to say, he wanted to go to bed. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bunk and ignore everything and sleep in so late tomorrow morning that Her Royal Annoyingness once again told Luke he was a lazy mercenary.

She kept saying that, apparently. Luke took some sort of perverse pleasure in repeating it, probably because it made him feel like he had something on Han. Han, for one, didn't care. He couldn't join the rebellion because he had to pay back Jabba, and he was really sick of explaining that to her idealistic little heart.

Did she _want_ the Rebellion to be the target of the Empire _and_ the Hutts – both of them in cahoots? He didn't think so.

Nodding his head emphatically at his internal tirade, Han stomped up the ramp of the falcon – and then abruptly stopped stomping, and got quieter, because he remembered Chewbacca was probably asleep, and Chewie could get unreasonably irritable if woken up unexpectedly.

Han rubbed the back of his neck, kneading his knuckles against stiff muscles, and checked the cockpit before he shuffled along the hall – he wrinkled his brow; _kest_ it was warm on this ship, even hot, which was a word he wasn't used to using on this planet – who in _seven_ hells had left the heat on, running that high - ?

Quietly, Han slipped into the crew quarters and inched past Chewie's hammock, scowling at the cumbersome thing. He turned the corner and pushed open his cabin door, flicking on a small light and stifling a yawn. He considered a trip to the 'fresher, changed his mind, and went to a drawer to pull out something to sleep on.

He kicked off boots, unbuckled his holsters, slid off his vest – hardly thinking twice about undressing, roughly pulling on sweatpants and deciding not to put on a shirt, since the heater seemed to have taken on a life of his own – not that he'd ever imagined himself complaining it was too hot, considering how freezing his existence had been since they came to Hoth.

He turned around, approached his bed, and saw something move. A mass of blanket rolled over and hugged a pillow, and Han jumped backwards, so startled that he tripped over the clothes he'd just discarded on the floor and landed flat on his backside. Breathing hard, he stared at the shadowy shape on top of his – _made_ bed? His bed hadn't been made this morning, had it? He was fairly sure he hadn't suddenly started taking the time to make his bed this late in life.

Squinting, Han sat forward – what in the hell was going on, he hadn't been with anyone last night. And if he had, he wouldn't have let her bum around the _Falcon_ all day – and with the rigid military regulations around this base, someone not in their required place at the required time would have raised suspicious, so who in all of Corellia's nine –

Suddenly, Han recognized the slope of the small nose, and the long, intricate braid half-undone on the pillow – _his_ pillow.

It was _Leia_.

Blinking in utter disbelief, Han shook his head slightly. He considered pinching himself. His mouth fell open slightly and – well, upon the realization that Princess Leia Organa was currently asleep in his bed, Han Solo had two questions:

 **1.** _What_ in Darth Vader's Sith-loving, asthmatic _name_ was going on, and

 **2.** What _alternate_ _universe_ was it going on _in_?

Sitting up, Han ran his hands over his face and then looked again, just to make sure he was seeing things correctly – yeah, he definitely was; it was definitely the princess. It was too tiny a figure to be any other woman on the ship.

Frowning, Han genuinely couldn't think of any circumstances under which this would happen. Well – scratch that, yes he could, but all of those circumstances involved him in bed _with_ her, not stumbling home half-asleep to find her mysteriously occupying his bunk. Han sat on the floor staring at his bed for a significantly worrisome amount of time.

Then, he shifted to his hands and knees and stealthily crawled forward, just to investigate. Stopping with his nose right at the edge of the bed, he peered at her intently. She wasn't just asleep, she was _heavily_ asleep. She was breathing so slowly and peacefully, she could pass for dead. Her brow was wrinkled slightly, her lips parted – very much sleeping like a _rock_. He'd only seen Leia asleep a couple of times – always on ships, or on missions, and all those times, she looked uncomfortable, distressed, and only shallowly rested.

Swallowing, he backed up a little – he'd been thinking about waking her up and reveling in the probably hilarious reaction she'd have – maybe she sleepwalked here? – but he really didn't want to disturb a slumber that looked as much-needed and satisfying as hers did. He was also pretty sure waking her up would scare her to death, and she'd either punch him or have someone arrest him and give him to Jabba.

Shifting quietly, he got up and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on. He figured he'd have to go wake the beast after all – Chewie probably knew what was going on. Creeping out of the room stealthily, Han hit the small light to turn it off, and then turned, pulling the door shut with a soft click.

Then, he stormed around the small corner, marched up to the hammock, and poked Chewbacca hard in the arm.

"Chewie, wake up, you big lump," he hissed.

Chewbacca's arm shot out and grasped Han loosely around the neck. Without opening his eyes, Chewie growled:

 _[You better be waking me up because the Emperor himself is here to see me.]_

Han gave him a baleful look, and tugged at his paw.

"Cut it out, Chewie," he muttered. "There's a Princess in my bed," he said, narrowing his eyes.

 _[You woke me up to tell me you scored?]_

Annoyed, Han gripped Chewie's paw tighter.

"Yeah, Her Royal Majesty the Princess of Prudes had a change of heart," he growled sarcastically. "Open your eyes, Chewie," he ordered. The Wookiee cracked on eye open moodily. "I went into my bunk to get some shut-eye and Leia was already there."

Chewie's eye flickered suddenly. Han swore he looked guilty.

 _[Oh, that.]_

"Oh, that," mimicked Han. "You know anything about that, pal?" Han demanded. "And why is it so hot in here?"

Chewie shrugged a little. He said something under his breath, and then he lifted his head, growling out an answer.

 _[She asked to sleep on the Falcon because it has heat.]_

Chewie paused.

 _[Uh, I was supposed to wake her up before you got back but I forgot she was here]._

"You forgot?" Han retorted, indignant. "How did you forget you gave her my bed?"

 _[Keep your voice down!]_ snarled Chewie.

Han clamped his mouth shut a moment, glaring. After a moment, he stepped closer, keeping his voice low.

"You want me to believe that she was just fine with sleeping in my bunk?" he asked.

Chewie tilted his head back and forth.

 _[She wanted to sleep on a crew cot, but they're cluttered.]_ He answered. _[Besides, they're uncomfortable, and she's a lady. So I put her in your bed and turned the heat on.]_

"Well, it's so hot in here I think she's cooked, so since she's got enough heat to last her a couple hours – "

 _[Do not go wake her up, Han.]_

"What the hell d'ya mean, don't – "

 _[She needs the sleep. You should have seen her]_ Chewie looked sheepish for a moment. _[And I don't want her to get mad at me when she finds out you found her.]_

"Then you go wake her up, and I'll hide until she's gone!"

Chewie let out a warning snarl.

 _[Let sleeping princesses lie!]_

"Where the hell am I supposed to sleep, then?"

Chewie shrugged.

 _[The cockpit.]_

"And what's your master plan for when she wakes up, huh?" Han fumed. "She's gonna realize you forgot to wake her up; she's gonna see me," he listed.

Chewie appeared to be ignoring him. He closed his eyes again, and shrugged.

 _[If you stay in the cockpit, she won't see you if she sneaks out.]_

"You really think I'm gonna sleep in the cockpit?"

 _[Well, if you really want your own room, I assume Leia's dorm is open.]_

 _Right_ , Han thought to himself, _like I'm going to go start a game of musical beds and end up on the wrong side of Rieekan's temper because it looks like I'm soiling the last member of the Royal House of Alderaan._

He stood by Chewie's hammock, glaring at him – this was mutiny, wasn't it? Auctioning off the captain's bed had to be some form of mutiny recognized in some area of the galaxy – even the Empire wouldn't condone this sort of – skullduggery –

Han sniffed derisively and gave Chewie's hammock a shove, hoping it didn't stop swaying for the next ten minutes. He stormed out of the crew quarters, and turned to go shut off the heat – but standing in front of the console, he thought better of it. He frowned a little – he was starting to sweat a bit, but then again, the planet was so cold, who was he to freeze Leia off the _Falcon_?

Gritting his teeth, and annoyed at his growing inability to be as selfish and careless as he used to be, he went off to the cockpit, giving both pilot seats murderous glares as he sat down in his and leaned back. He put his bare feet up on the console, brooding about the current sleeping arrangements.

What possessed Leia to get the idea that sleeping on the _Falcon_ would ease her cold nights? Granted, figuring that out wasn't rocket science; she'd slept, exhausted, on the ship when he'd rescued her from Yavin, and a couple times since – but always when it was moving, and out of necessity. It wasn't so much that she'd come up with the idea, it was that she'd gone ahead with it. Leia – _the_ Leia Organa – swallowing her pride and seeking out his ship, something _he_ could give her.

Okay; so she'd gone to Chewie, and she'd tried to make sure Han didn't find out – but that was running a big risk for her, and why was she all of a sudden unable to bear the cold? Leia was the queen of putting up with whatever conditions the rebels had to endure. She was more soldier than princess, anyone could see that.

They'd been on Hoth for _months_ , and he hadn't heart her complain – just noticed she shivered a lot, and her cheeks looked pale and pinched.

Tilting his head back, Han frowned. Then, he sat bolt upright, a terrible thought occurring to him – what if other people got the idea that the _Falcon_ had a bit extra sleep space, and started trying to take a turn. What if Luke wanted a crew cot for a night, and Wedge – what if Mon Mothma started demanding it was his duty as an unofficial member to keep the troops in good spirits – well, hey now, that could be lucrative, if he charged like a hotel –

 _Stop, Solo_.

Slouching down, Han listened to the stern voice inside of him – _no one_ was going to start divvying up sleepy time on the _Falcon_.

Han stared out the viewport at the expanse of the docking bay, watching deserted base.

For an amused moment, he wondered what would happen if he did sneak down a few corridors to Leia's quarters, commandeer _her_ bed, and was fast asleep in that when she got up and slunk away, thinking he was none the wiser.

He quickly squashed that idea. There was something distinctly more sinister about him being in her bed without her permission than the other way around – he didn't know why, but something in Leia's standoffish manner made him pretty keenly think she'd never trust him again, if he did that. And he kind of _liked_ that she'd trusted him enough to let Chewie put her in his bunk.

Putting his hands behind his head, he slouched down more in the leather seat, yawning. He had no way of knowing what time she'd wake up, but Chewie was right, if she did, and she tried to sneak off, thinking she was in the clear even if the Wookiee had failed her, she wouldn't spot him unless she went looking.

He could just give her some peace and let her think she was clever.

Or, he could wake up and have kaffe ready for her, just to see the look on her face.

Closing his eyes, he smirked – Sith, would she be mortified if she thought she'd got off clear and rounded the corner to find him blithely sitting there at the table, waiting.

Thinking of her reaction to _that_ , he fell asleep.

* * *

Leia was pulled out of her sleep by a loud noise – at least; she thought it was a loud noise. She had been sleeping so mind-numbingly well that it was one of those situations where the end to sleep was so abrupt, she couldn't' really figure out what had woken her.

Upon opening her eyes, she immediately experienced that utterly panicked, completely terrified jolt one often experiences after a deep sleep: the jolt that screamed: _Where am i? What year is it? Who am I?!_ Leia blinked, shook off that strange, out-of-body feeling, only to raise her head a little – and sit up violently, her eyes wide.

 _Hold on – actually, where am I?!_ She thought frantically.

Then, she calmed, as the unfamiliar quarters became semi-familiar, and the events of last night rushed back to her in a soothing flood of relief. Oh, right; she'd sought out the _Falcon,_ in the hopes it would be a warm place to sleep – if only for a minute, before the nightmares woke her up.

Relaxing, Leia drew her knees up, yawning. She rubbed at her eyes – maybe it wasn't a noise that woke her up, maybe it was one of those nightmares that disoriented and traumatized her so badly, her defense mechanism was to wake up, and block it out, only to remember it in full at some inconvenient point later – like at a meeting.

It had to be one of those. Otherwise, she couldn't remember having a bad dream, and she always had bad dreams.

She yawned again, scratching near one of her braids – she had to start remembering to take those out completely; they really hurt her head when she slept on them. Twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger, she considered cutting it for the thousandth time. It was in the way. It wasn't conducive to battle.

But long hair was a staple in the Alderaanian royal house, and how could she chop off her heritage when there was no one left to carry it on?

She pushed her hair back, hugging her knees. She was warm – it was _warm_. What a completely foreign feeling – and what a blessing. It seemed her idea had worked; the warmth had at least helped her stay asleep – and she must have gotten more than usual; she felt refreshed. Leia wasn't sure she'd felt _refreshed_ since the morning she set off on her diplomatic mission from Alderaan.

And that seemed like a full lifetime ago.

She gathered the blanket she'd been using in her hand, and figured she'd better be on her way – definitely before so many people were awake they'd see her coming off the Falcon. It had to be before early morning hours – Chewie said he'd wake up up before Han got back, and Han's shift was over before Hoth's sun rose.

She got up, contemplating whether or not to fold the blanket – probably not, anything neatly folded would tip Han off. Best to shove it unceremoniously back where Chewie had gotten it from. She made her way over to do exactly that, resisting a sudden sneaky urge to snoop through everything in Captain Solo's cabin, and as she approached the drawer it had been in, she stopped dead in her tracks.

There, on the floor, near the drawers: vest, bloodstripe pants, holsters…blaster.

Had that been there last night?

She was pretty sure it hadn't. She was almost positive Han wouldn't have gone to take a patrol shift without a weapon. Even Han wasn't that overconfident in his own abilities. In fact, Han didn't seem particularly good at hand-to-hand combat at all. He exclusively relied on his gun. Meaning –

Leia blanched, and swallowed hard.

He must have been in here.

And if his gun was still in here, he was probably still on the ship.

"Maybe Chewie doesn't understand Basic as well as I thought," she murmured to herself, stricken. _Or Maybe Chewie's playing a joke on you_ , a crueler part of her whispered. She ignored it – Chewie wouldn't do that. Chewie was kind to her and – and maybe something else was going on, anyway. She highly doubted Han had strolled in to find here in his bed and simply walked right back out without waking her up to mock her ceaselessly about it. Unless he had gone to tell everyone and charge admission so they could view her as proof.

No…surely that would have woken her up. And Han – well, even Han wasn't that depraved; she was being ridiculous.

Dropping the blanket, Leia backed away from the items on the floor and looked warily at the cabin door. She couldn't really be angry at Chewie; it wasn't his job to babysit her – and she couldn't really be mad at Han, either – it was _his_ ship, and if he was here, he'd let her be in peace…

…but that still meant he knew. He _knew_ she'd been here.

Leia closed her eyes, and decided she should peek out and see if anyone was there. She used caution – but there was no one outside the door and as she sidled around the small corner, she realized there was no one in the crew quarters, either. Chewie's hammock was empty.

Leia continued her stealthy approach: she kept slinking forward, being quiet, peeking around – she figured she'd do this until she had managed to get off the ship unnoticed, except now she was concerned about what time it was. There was a chance that if she got off the ship, she'd stroll right into a crowd – say, the Rogue Squadron – hanging around, all suddenly extremely curious as to what she'd been doing and why no one had seen her since last night.

Leia wasn't much for swearing, but thinking of that, she thought of a couple nasty words she'd heard from Han, and muttered them under her breath.

" _Kriff_ ," she hissed, peering around a corner.

She'd decided it was probably safe to go through the main hold – she couldn't hear anything, and neither Han nor Chewie were that particular about being quiet, ever; they always clanged around the ship like banthas in antique shops.

Leia darted out from the crew quarters, straightened the long-sleeved, white thermal she was wearing, patted her hair, and set out to determinedly slip right through the hold, down the ramp, and away from this decidedly awkward situation. She was five footsteps into the room when she noticed Han sitting quite smugly at the table, lounging back against the back of the seat as if he had just been offered unlimited access to the Imperial bank.

She froze, her eyes wide.

"Good morning, Your Sleepiness," he drawled pointedly. He raised a mug to her in mock salute – she noticed the hold smelled heavily of fresh-brewed kaffe.

Her loquacious politician's mind completely failed her, and the only thing she could think to say was:

"Hi."

She immediately felt like kicking herself – it came out squeaky, and unpolished, and she flushed. Han, probably a little taken aback himself that she hadn't come up with something more eloquent, or clever, lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

"That all you got to say?" Han asked smugly.

She hesitated, opening her mouth. She closed it again.

"Well," she began diplomatically. "I have a lot to say to Chewie, actually," she said, her expression darkening slightly.

"Oh, he's in the mess hall," Han said brightly.

Her brow furrowed.

"For lunch," Han went on.

" _Lunch_?"

"That's right, Your Worship," Han said. "Lunch. That's how late it is. It's lunch time."

Leia stared at him, her mouth open. She thought – to think, she'd thought she was waking up before Han got back from shift, when it was – it was the whole night, and half the morning later! She felt a blush rising up her neck again but – she also felt strangely happy about it; she hadn't had that much good, uninterrupted sleep in _so_ long.

He sat there watching her with that smug look on his face, that cup of kaffe – he was barefoot, and wearing sweatpants and a thermal t-shirt; he clearly hadn't spent much time off the ship this morning. Had he just been sitting around, waiting to catch her. The thought was slightly annoying, and she narrowed her eyes.

"Don't give me that look," Han said immediately. "I've been covering for you all morning."

Her eyes widened.

"Covering for me?" she asked, worried. "Why?"

"Well, Sweetheart, no one's seen you since last night, and you're always visibly doing something, givin' orders or somethin'," he pointed out. "People have been looking for you."

She looked at him apprehensively.

"And you told them - ?"

"That you were locked in your dorm in bed because you didn't feel well."

"How did you explain knowing that when no one else did?" she demanded.

"No one asked," Han retorted.

Leia let out a breath of relief – though she was slightly intrigued by his last comment. Why would no one be curious as to why Han knew things like that about her? Did they assume she told him everything, just because she was around him, Luke, and Chewie most of the time? Leia sighed, stepping forward a little. She folded her arms.

"What's this going to cost me?" she asked, eyeing him warily.

"What do you mean?"

"For you, to keep your mouth shut," she clarified. "What's it going to cost me?"

He shrugged, and then he grinned.

"No charge," he said. "I just want to know what brought you here."

"Chewie didn't tell you?"

"Chewie said you were cold," Han answered.

Leia nodded simply, shrugging.

"I was cold," she agreed. "Your ship has heating."

"So do other ships."

"I can't ask them to activate a whole transport carrier just because I'm chilly," she said logically, "and I imagine an X-wing cockpit would be uncomfortable."

"Cockpits _are_ uncomfortable," he growled at her, turning his head to the side and popping his neck for emphasis.

She flushed again – he must have been quite thrown off to find his bed occupied when he came back from watch. She felt bad – she hadn't meant to inconvenience him; she really hadn't. That's why she tried to come while he was away!

"Besides, Han," she sighed, giving him a look as if it were obvious.

"Besides what?" he asked densely.

"I've slept on the _Falcon_ before," she said, teeth gritted. "From Yavin, those two covert missions," she listed.

"You complained the whole time!"

"Well, I – !" she burst out, breaking off. She blushed furiously. "I was on the crew cots, and your bunk is…nicer."

Han blinked at her, and then grinned wickedly.

"I tried to tell you that, Princess, but you said you'd rather be chained to a Hutt than get near my –"

"I know what I said," she interrupted irritable. She moved her hand like she was swatting away a bug. "You weren't offering me your bunk, anyway," she reminded him. "You were offering to let me sleep in the bunk _with_ you."

"Offer still stands. Especially since you already made yourself at home there last night."

"I cannot _stand_ you," she growled.

Han laughed at her.

"C'mon," he coaxed. "Why the hell was Hoth suddenly too cold last night?"

She fell silent. There was no way to answer that without getting into things she – really didn't think Han cared to hear. He liked teasing her and flirting with her – at least, he always claimed he was flirting – but she doubted he wanted to know any of the murkier details of who she was.

She shook her head a little.

"It just was," she said dully.

He arched his eyebrows.

Suddenly overwhelmingly annoyed with his probing look, she put her hands on her hips.

"I can't sleep," she snapped. "I haven't had a full night's sleep since the Death Star, and the cold makes it worse. When I wake up, I'm so cold I can't get back to sleep. Between the nightmares and the cold, I can't _stay_ asleep."

She licked her lips, setting her jaw.

"I just needed one good nap to recharge me," she revealed flatly. "Is that a good enough explanation?"

His smile had faded sometime in the middle of her speech. He looked down at his mug for a moment, feeling a little guilty.

"Hell, Leia," he said quietly, looking back up. "A _nap_? After all you went through, you need to sleep for a millennium."

Some of her irritation ebbed away, and her shoulders fell a little. Looking at him critically a moment, she realized he really meant that, and her armor cracked a little; maybe she didn't need to be so up in arms around him. After all, he had slept in his pilot chair last night, just to avoid disturbing her. Even though she hadn't even asked _him_ if she could stay here. She offered him a small smile.

"I can't. I have an Empire to bring down," she said.

He tilted his head at her. He lifted his hand, and gestured over towards the crew quarters.

"Is this going to be a habit?" he asked, a bit dry. "'Cause if it is, I need to make a schedule – "

He was only half-joking, but she shook her head, her face carefully guarded.

"No, it won't happen again," she said – she decided it then and there. She didn't need to get used to this – and she didn't need to get distracted. Not by him, not by cozy warm bunks – not by her own conflicting feelings.

Han stood up.

"If it does," he said roguishly. He leaned down and met her eyes with a wink. "I'm a much warmer blanket than that old thing Chewie gave you."

Her face turned redder than Coruscant, and he grinned, straightening up and beckoning to her.

"Follow me, most of 'em are at lunch," he said gruffly. "I'll cover your exit."

She gave his back a grateful smile, and followed him clasping her hands. He stood at the head of the ramp.

"No one's payin' attention," he said lazily. "They all think you're in your room, anyway, so they quit looking."

Leia approached him, looking out carefully. He was right – the hangar was deserted. She spotted Chewie and Luke, but she trusted them. She turned to Han, tilting her face up.

"Han?" she asked. "Thank you for your…discretion."

He shrugged; he nodded.

"And thank you for not…getting into bed with me," she added dryly, because honestly, her first thought upon realizing he must have known she was there was shock that he hadn't taken advantage of it.

He looked a little perturbed at that, like he resented her thinking he'd do something that intimate. She – she really did underestimate Han, sometimes. He was a scoundrel, but he wasn't a villain. He nodded again, though, and then turned, giving her a sly look.

"I'll wait for my invitation," he said, affecting a cordial tone. "Did it get lost in the mail, Your Worship?" he asked seriously.

Leia glared at him, her brown eyes severe. Her lips parted in annoyance, and she turned, storming off.

"Insufferable," he heard her mutter.

He grinned; he watched her pass Luke and Chewie with a short greeting; watched Luke's head nearly swivel off as he turned to watch her go down the ramp.

"I thought you said she was sick in bed?" Luke asked Chewie earnestly.

He came to a stop, and shot Han a suspicious look. Chewie shrugged, and snuffled, nudging Luke suggestively.

 _[I didn't say whose bed.]_

Han glared.

"Knock it off, Chewie," he ordered protectively.

Luke looked between them.

"What did he say?"

Han nodded after Leia.

"He said she's feeling better," he lied.

Luke's eyes squinted even more suspiciously. Han blinked at him defiantly – Leia had _thanked_ him for being _discreet_ , he wasn't about to disappoint her. He had started to discover recently that he liked it when Leia was nice to him. He also liked it when she yelled at him. He liked it when Leia did anything to him, even things like standing in the same room as him.

As a matter of fact, it was a bit ironic that Leia sought out the _Falcon_ to get a warm night's sleep, because Han was starting to think the only thing distracting him from the temperature on this _kriffing_ icicle planet was how hot his blood got over one allegedly _cold_ Alderaanian warrior princess.

* * *

 _-feedback appreciated!_

 _-alexandra_  
 _story #171_


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